Sweet Afton
by babygray
Summary: Two months after the Battle, Harry packs his bag and goes back in time to save Severus Snape. He plans to arrive a day early. Instead, he overshoots his target date by sixteen years. Written for Snarry-a-Thon 2012.


_In case you didn't already know,_ I participated in Snarry-a-Thon 2012 and this was my entry (if you haven't read it there already, _it's new to you!_)

It almost didn't happen. I usually take months (years) to write anything, so mashing out a decent story based on someone else's idea within a couple of months was a challenge in and of itself. Fortunately, everything worked out in the end. It's written. It's here.

Please enjoy.

_Warnings_: EWE, mild canon bending  
_Pairing_: Snape/Harry  
_Betas_: crimson_vipera and badgerlady  
_Prompt_: #18 - Harry uses a time turner to try to save Snape after Nagini's attack, but goes too far back and winds up at Hogwarts just in time for Severus Snape's first year as a professor.  
_Note_: This is _slightly_ different than the Snarry-a-Thon version. Just a few words changed here and there, nothing significant.

* * *

**Sweet Afton**

Harry tugged at the straps of his rucksack and walked deeper into the woods, his head full of mathematical equations with too many _x_'s and _y_'s to help him, even if he remembered his algebra. He had trouble thinking of much else the last few days, except for _how_ and _where_ and _when_ and _how long_ and _how many_. The liaison officer said one turn of the knob would take him back for twelve hours, which was more than Harry had dared hope. Hell, if the Time Turner was only capable of taking him back in time for thirteen seconds a turn, he would still have taken it. He would turn it until his fingers blistered and bled, if it allowed Harry to save the bravest man he knew.

He stopped in a small clearing and wiped off the sweat on his face with his shirtsleeve. Through the trees, he could see the Shrieking Shack, cold and foreboding even in the middle of summer, and the rooftops of Hogsmeade just beyond.

As good a place as any, Harry thought as he took the Invisibility Cloak out of his sack. One hundred and twenty-five turns would take him to the first of May, the day Snape was forced to leave Hogwarts for good, giving Harry a day to hide and wait for the right moment to act. If he was successful, he'll have two months to help Snape recover. He tried not to think of what would happen if he failed.

The Time Turner he was given was as large as his palm. It was tarnished and dented and the outermost ring was bent inward towards the hourglass set in the centre. A Daytripper, the liaison officer called it, assuring him that it was still functional despite the superficial damage. Harry just had to take her word for it.

Invisible and nervous, he took a deep breath and started turning, counting each twist of the knob out loud. He tried to not think about how large a number 125 was, or about how he was jumping feet first back in time for a man that had both hated and protected him.

At around thirty turns, the air around Harry grew heavier, pressing in on him, and still he kept turning. It was almost like Apparating, but slower, his body gradually crushed by gravity and humidity. He kept turning, even as the pressure of Time itself became too much to withstand, not stopping until he reached his goal.

As the Time Turner spun him back, the pressure eased just enough to let Harry breathe again. The clearing spun around him at a dizzying pace, making Harry's head hurt when he looked too closely at the passage of time. And as Harry wondered how much longer it would take, it was over, dumping Harry into the past.

He fell forward onto his hands and knees into three inches of snow and began to shiver. He stuffed his hands under his armpits as he stared at the snow-covered clearing.

He swore in spite of himself. "What now?" he said to the trees, his teeth starting to chatter.

* * *

Severus should have taken the red dust as a sign. He should have closed the door and retired back to his modest office and his sparse, tiny bedroom, gone straight to bed and refused to move until perhaps Monday, if he deigned to teach that day. Let Dumbledore dock his pay. Let McGonagall bitch about his lack of professionalism. Let Slughorn scold and say, "I'm merely an assistant, Severus," even as he undermines Severus's authority in the classroom at every turn. He did not think he could take much more.

Someone had broken into his private workroom last night and left a thick layer of sparkling red dust on every single available surface. The potions Severus had left simmering were ruined, the fires underneath the cauldrons smothered. Little clouds of fine powder, kicked up by the cold draft blowing in from the hall, curled at Severus's feet. There was even dust on the ceiling, waiting for an unsuspecting victim to walk underneath.

This should not be affecting him this much. Severus had endured more than most this past year, so crying over _this_ should be beneath him. Yet he could feel the tears inexplicably forming in his eyes and his breathing becoming shaky. He tilted his head back, blinked rapidly, and tried to not think about camels and straws and burning his workroom to embers in rage.

"Why, Severus, back to work so early are we?" he heard Slughorn say as he waddled down the hall towards him. The older wizard was disgustingly jolly and dressed for the holiday; his bright red waistcoat was trimmed with silver hearts that caught the waning torchlight. He clapped a heavy hand on Severus's upper arm and glanced inside the workroom. Slughorn's smile wilted at the sight. "Oh, dear," he said slowly.

Severus swallowed as he struggled to not scream in response. "That's a very _mild_ way of putting it," Severus said instead, his teeth clenching painfully.

"What ever were you working on?" Slughorn asked as he peered up at the ceiling. A bit of dust trickled down in anticipation.

"Nothing that would do _this_," Severus whined, jerking his arm towards the sparkling red disaster. "This, this is intolerable! When I get my hands on the hooligans behind this, I'm going to introduce them to their _entrails_."

"Come now," Slughorn reproached gently, "no need for all that."

_No need?_ "Forgive me, Professor," Severus snapped, "but are you blind? This is a malicious attack and the perpetrators need be punished accordingly." Preferably by their internal organs, but Severus was more than willing to compromise.

Slughorn frowned up at Severus, his eyebrows lowering. "I think you're taking this harmless prank a bit too much to heart," Slughorn reprimanded softly. Severus stared down at him in disbelief, a look the old wizard ignored completely as he patted Severus's arm.

"How about we leave this for the house elves to clean up and go up to enjoy our breakfast?" Slughorn said as he firmly directed Severus away from the door. "Then you can put all this unpleasantness behind you and finally get around to marking those essays for Monday."

Severus dug his nails into his palms and deliberately dragged his feet. "I don't have time for breakfast this morning," he hissed. He didn't want to go to the Great Hall. He _wanted_ to be left alone, preferably in his room so that he could deal with his frustration and rage in private.

"Nonsense, Severus," Slughorn said. "Of course you have time. You're much too skinny as it is."

Severus bit back a comment on Slughorn's own rotundity, but only just. There was no point in fighting the old walrus when he set his mind to driving Severus spare.

The Great Hall was still half-empty as Slughorn escorted Severus to his usual seat by the groundskeeper. Hagrid smiled hesitantly as Severus sullenly took his seat.

"Didn't sleep well, Professor?" Hagrid asked as he slurped from his tankard.

"Had trouble in the lab," Severus muttered as he pushed the food on his plate around. He imagined the eggs were the vandals' curried brains and jabbed at them with his fork.

Severus glowered at every student who walked into the Great Hall, eyeing each one for clues. Would the dimwits give themselves away with a smug look? Would they dare brag to their friends in full view of the Head Table? They would have to be particularly dense to do so, but only the dense or the fatally arrogant would dare break into a professor's private workroom for a "prank." It was only a matter of time before one of them made a mistake.

The difficulty, however, lay in finding that one hint, that one sign amidst all the general animosity and teenage spite. That group of Ravenclaws with their heads together, whispering and glancing in his direction: were they the ones, or were they merely making crude comments on his general appearance? That cluster of Slytherins by the doors, laughing hard and mean: were they celebrating or were they merely mocking? Paranoia and experience had made it easier to spot those ridiculing him, but it also made finding out the culprits that much harder.

He hadn't counted, however, on one of the miscreants coming to breakfast with sparkling red dust on his robes. He hadn't pinned Jack Simmond to be the sort to _prank_ his teachers, but he was a Gryffindor. If he wasn't shamelessly arrogant, he was dumber than a stick. Severus rose from his seat, intent to learn which.

Simmond's face went white when he saw Severus stalking towards him. The frightened frog look on the Gryffindor's face gave Severus a dark little thrill.

"Mr. Simmond, a word," Severus ordered, yanking up Simmond to his feet when he did not move. "Now," he added with a light shove towards the doors.

Simmond jerked into motion, his eyes darting around the room for someone to rescue him. Severus took note of which Gryffindors glared at him and which ducked their heads in guilt or fear of being found out as well.

He forcefully led Simmond out of the Great Hall and into the corridor, pushing him none too gently away from the doors. "I don't take kindly to having my potions destroyed, Mr. Simmond," he said icily, looking down at the boy. "Nor do I appreciate having my private rooms broken into."

"Professor Snape," McGonagall snapped as she stormed out the Hall behind them. "What is the meaning of this?" Severus was surprised the whole of Gryffindor House hadn't come out to watch the spectacle as well.

Severus sneered at his former teacher. "My workroom was broken into last night and _someone_ filled it with red dust," he explained. "The same red dust that is on Mr. Simmond's clothes."

McGonagall looked down at Simmond before straightening. "Is that right?" she said flatly before leveling her steady gaze on Simmond's face.

Simmond lifted his head up in supplication. "I didn't do anything," Simmond begged. "I wasn't in the dungeons last night, I swear!"

"The dust on your clothes says different," Severus snapped.

"Mr. Simmond," McGonagall interrupted, "go and wait for me in my office. I'll deal with you shortly." Simmond opened his mouth to protest, but McGonagall stared him down from over the rim of her glasses. The boy slunk off, shooting Severus a glare from over his shoulder.

Once the boy was out of earshot, McGonagall turned that stare towards Severus. "I thought we've talked about this," she said. "You cannot just push the students around as you please."

"As _I_ please?" Severus protested. "That boy broke into my office last night and ruined _days'_ worth of work. Shouldn't you be saying that to him?"

"This isn't about him, but about you," McGonagall corrected. "The students will never respect you if you keep bullying them at every turn. Your position is precarious as it is, and if you continue to alienate those around you-"

"Are you done?" Severus cut in, his body turned away from McGonagall.

She sputtered and stepped in front of Severus. "No, I'm not done," she said, her face uncomfortably close. He could smell the coffee and marmite on her breath. "This is a serious problem, and if you don't correct it, it will have to be corrected for you."

He sighed at the imposition and sneered at her words. She had as much authority over him as a house elf, no matter how much she might threaten him.

She gave him a sneer of her own. "You're on chaperon duty today," she declared.

Severus leaned back. "No, I'm not," Severus refused.

"Yes, you are," McGonagall ordered, her sneer twisting upwards. "While I deal with your little saboteurs, you're going to do your job and keep an eye on the students while they're at Hogsmeade, _Professor_."

With that, she stomped off towards her office, satisfied with having the last word. Severus glowered at her back. "Contemptible crone," he muttered as he stormed off to his own office, intent on spending the day in bed after all.

Dumbledore, however, was at the stairs, cutting off his escape. "Ah, Severus," he said as he glided down the staircase, one hand holding up his buttercup yellow robes. "Minerva tells me you've volunteered to chaperon today."

"I did no such thing," Severus started, but Dumbledore's hearing was no better than Slughorn's.

"I'm glad to see you taking an initiative," Dumbledore went on, "and I'm certain the students will appreciate it as well. Also," he added, "since you're going into town, would you be so kind as to bring me back some Cheery Cherry chocolates?" He patted Severus's shoulder as he walked past. "Good man."

* * *

Harry wandered down the High Street, careful not to walk into anyone. There were students everywhere, undeterred by the cold, strong winds blowing down from the mountains. Hearts and flowers in varying shades of red decorated the storefronts. Above the chatter and laughter, Harry could hear Celestina Warbeck belting out her greatest hits at full volume. It reminded Harry of Cho Chang and their date together, fifth year. Somehow, being trapped years in the past didn't seem so bad in comparison.

He scanned the crowds, but he could not find any friendly or familiar faces. In fact, he didn't recognise any of these people. Their clothes, too, looked like frightening throwbacks, with flared trouser legs and stonewashed denim robes. There was even an older girl with an orange mohawk and a cloak that was little more than lace and safety pins. Just how far back in time _had_ Harry ended up?

He stopped by the post office and tucked the Invisibility Cloak tighter around himself for warmth. He'd probably be able to pilfer a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ at the Three Broomsticks up the street. The warm fire no doubt burning away inside the pub was reason enough to brave the place. He looked up towards Honeydukes, considering his chances of entering the Three Broomsticks undetected, when he spotted a _very_ familiar face coming out of the sweets shop.

Harry gasped and took a step back in surprise, banging on the post office window and startling the owls inside. He swore and moved away from the window, afraid he had already given himself away.

Snape scowled at no one in particular as he shoved a shiny red bag of sweets into his black robes and turned away from the Three Broomsticks. He barely glanced around as he stomped up the High Street, his robes snapping around his heels.

Harry half-jogged to catch up, falling in, he hoped, silent step behind Snape. The students moved out of the professor's way, avoiding his face as he walked past. A few glared defiantly at Snape as he stormed past, unafraid and unintimidated. Most did not bother to hide the spite in their eyes.

Snape seemed oblivious to the dark looks as he took a sharp right turn into an alley behind Dervish and Banges. Harry stopped, careful not to make a sound as Snape took a few slow steps deeper into the alley.

Snape patted his pockets and took out a bright yellow pack of cigarettes. He thumped the bottom of the pack, shook one out, and placed it between his thin lips, cursing under his breath as he did so.

"Useless, worthless, irritating," he muttered as he lit the end and tossed the used match at the other end of the alley. It hissed as it hit the snow. Snape took a long, slow drag and slumped against the stone wall, exhaling the smoke with a sigh. He tilted his head back and stared up at the cloudy sky, and Harry couldn't remember seeing Snape look so _young_ and so old at the same time. With each drag, his face lost that pinched sneer, becoming softer, more mournful. Harry felt guilty and looked away.

A pair of men in checked, multicoloured robes and oversized collars loitered by the end of the alley, watching Snape with barely concealed disgust. The taller one had a thick moustache that covered his upper lip. The shorter one was a bit red in the face. "Well, look what we found," he drawled, nudging his taller friend with his elbow. "_Snivellus_ Snape."

Snape huffed and turned his head away, unimpressed. He took another drag from his cigarette with his left hand, his right resting against the butt of his wand. "Fuck off," he exhaled.

"You sure have a filthy mouth, _Professor_," the short one growled. He slid his right hand into his left sleeve. Harry took out his own wand and held it at the ready. "Is that how you stayed out of Azkaban?"

"Maybe it was his _filthy mouth_," his friend chimed in with a leer. He nudged Shorty with his elbow. "Get it?"

"Yeah, I get it, Darrell," Shorty snapped before drawing out his wand and pointing it at Snape. "Why don't you turn around and face me, _Snivellus_? Or are all you Death Eaters just cowards?"

Snape finished his cigarette and let it fall from his fingers and onto the ground. "Fuck off," he enunciated, pushing off the wall. "I'm not in the mood." Harry's fingers anxiously flexed around his wand.

Shorty wasn't having any of that. "_Levicorpus!_"

"_Protego!_" shouted Harry, blocking the hex and sending it back at its caster. It hit Shorty square in the face, knocking him back. He smacked against Darrell as the spell twisted him upside down.

Snape froze for a moment, too stunned to react. Harry grabbed his wrist and started pulling him away. "Come on," he whispered urgently, but the man would not budge.

"Snape!" Darrell called out, drawing his own wand.

_That_ snapped Snape out of it. "_Stupefy!_" he cast a bit frantically before letting Harry drag him away. They started running before Darrell's Stunned body hit the cold ground.

They dashed through Hogsmeade, Harry's hand around Snape's bony wrist like a vice. His lungs burned and his feet kept sliding underneath him as they scurried down the quiet side streets. They ran past houses and tiny niche boutiques, not stopping or slowing down until they reached the woods just beyond.

They did not stop as much as they collapsed, their legs buckling underneath them. Snape sagged against a tree root half his height and dropped his head between his knees, gasping and coughing for breath. Harry leaned against the trunk of another and pressed a hand over his pounding heart. He let out a nervous, high-strung laugh.

Snape raised his head and looked at the footprints Harry had left in the snow. "Take that thing off, whoever you are," he said. The wand was still in his hand.

"Only if you promise not to hex me," Harry said.

"I'll hex you if you don't," Snape replied, his gaze moving between where Harry's feet obviously were and the space just above Harry's head. He rolled his wand between his fingers. His cheeks were splotchy with colour.

Harry huffed and took off the Cloak, wand first, letting the silvery artefact fall to the ground. Snape gaped at him, the colour of his cheeks receding rapidly. "Potter," he breathed, his body swaying dangerously to the side.

Harry rushed to his side, his hands out to catch Snape in case he fainted. Snape recovered quickly and jabbed his wand at Harry's throat, stopping him. "Who are you?" he hissed, his black eyes darting across Harry's face.

"Harry," he breathed, trying not to think about how close Snape's wand was. He kept his arms out, not touching or moving lest he provoke him. "Harry Potter."

"No, no." Snape shook his head. "You're either a deranged fan of the Boy Who Lived, or a malicious little creep." He shoved Harry back with his free hand. "How _dare_ you, showing up with _that_ face and _those_ eyes."

"Only face and eyes I've got, Snape," Harry sniped without thinking.

Snape rose to his feet and eyed Harry up and down, his expression unsure and a bit afraid. The wand stayed pointed at Harry's face. "Don't get smart with me," he warned.

"Then don't call me a creep! Look," Harry said as he fished out the Time Turner from underneath the layers of shirts and sweaters he was wearing. Snape's wand flicked from side to side, but no hex came. Harry considered it a point in his favour as he showed Snape the device. "I used this to get here," he explained, sounding a bit desperate to his own ears.

Snape shook his head. "Time Turners can only take you back a few hours, not years," he said. "How old are you supposed to be? Sixteen?"

"Eighteen next month," Harry corrected. "And this one obviously took me back much farther than a few hours. Wait, I can prove that I'm me." He pushed back his fringe and jutted his forehead towards Snape. "See?"

Snape shook his head again. "That only proves how much of a deranged fan you are," he said. He sneered, trying to regain his mental footing. "Did you do it yourself, or did you have one of your friends give you that scar?"

"Why would I do that when _Voldemort_ already gave it to me," Harry growled.

"Don't!" Snape snapped, his wand cutting through the air. "Don't say that name." His free hand was clenching and unclenching as he took a deep breath.

"Snape," Harry said, pleading. He reached out slowly. Snape pulled away from his touch.

"Get away from me," Snape snarled, straightening. "You... if you're not a very _devoted_ fan, then you're as reckless and foolish as your supposed _father_."

Harry frowned. "Don't bring my father into this."

"Yes," Snape nodded to himself. "You have to be the genuine article, because only Potter's brainless spawn would decide to destroy the _very fabric of time_ on a whim!"

"_Whim?_ You think I _meant_ to go this far back? And on a _whim_?" Harry yelled. "I didn't mean to go farther than two months, and now I'm stuck in the 1970's!"

"It's 1982," Snape corrected.

"And the one person I know I can trust," Harry railed on, "the _one_ person I went back in time for, is calling me a deranged fan and insulting my father!" He took a deep breath and tried to control his anger. He pushed his glasses into his hair and pressed his cold fingers against his eyes.

His plan was ruined before he even started.

There was a blank expression on Snape's face. "You trust me?" he asked softly.

Harry looked at his future former professor. "Yes, I do," he answered honestly.

Snape stared at him for a long moment. "And you traveled back in time... for me."

Harry only nodded.

"You're an idiot," Severus proclaimed flatly. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "And _I'm_ an idiot for believing for even one second you're anything more than a deranged fan. Please," he raised his hand as Harry opened his mouth to speak, "I don't want to hear anymore. If you're really Harry Potter, then you're a moron, and if you're not, you're insane. And, frankly, I don't want to deal with this, or you."

Snape turned away. Hogwarts loomed in the distance, the castle dark against the grey sky.

"Can I... write to you?" Harry asked. "At least?"

Snape did not turn around. "Why?"

Harry's stomach twisted inside him as several reasons rested on his tongue. Because Snape was the one Harry had come to save. Because Snape might (_one day_) know how to neutralise Nagini's venom. Because Snape was the only one who knew Harry was from the future, and even if Snape didn't (_wouldn't_) understand, Harry needed to know there was _someone_ he could talk to. "Because I want to," he said, and it almost sounded like it was enough.

Severus sighed and bowed his head. "Fine," he said. He turned and pointed his finger at Harry. "But don't you dare send it under 'Harry Potter'." Harry frowned, insulted. "Write it's from..." He waved his hand. "... 'David' or something."

"David?"

Severus shrugged and looked away. "It's as good a name as any."

Harry could be a "David." "David Evans, then." Snape sneered but said nothing about the last name. Harry decided that silence was his way of showing approval. "Mind if I walk back to Hogsmeade with you?"

"Yes," was the taciturn reply over Snape's shoulder. Harry gathered his Invisibility Cloak off the ground and shook off the snow before throwing it back on. He bounded after Snape and fell in step behind him.

Snape made no comment about Harry's invisible company.

Harry was embarrassingly pleased.

* * *

Severus skimmed the essay in front of him, searching for _any_ reason to mark it "T", before sighing and pushing it away. Simmond and his spotty cohort Murphy looked up from the pile of black beetles they were sorting through, perhaps waiting for Severus to say that they were free to go. He shot them a dark look, making them duck their heads nervously.

Yes, this was _exactly_ how Severus had wanted to spend _his_ Sunday: marking essays _Slughorn_ had assigned and overseeing a detention. He tapped his fingers on the desk and daydreamed about going out for a crafty fag and burning these useless papers with his match. It would be an inspired end to a dismal, boring and, at one point, bizarre Valentine's Day.

There was a knock on the doorframe, breaking his reverie. Albus Dumbledore had come from on high, Severus thought when he spotted his employer at the open door, a small package in his hand. "Professor Snape, may I have a word?"

Severus stood as gracefully as his shaky knees allowed. "Of course," he said as he stepped out into the hall.

"Thank you again for getting those chocolates for me," Dumbledore said before holding out the package for Severus to take. It was wrapped in brown paper, with a letter taped to the top. "This came in the Owl Post this morning for you. Somehow it ended up in my office by mistake."

"Did you open it?" Severus asked without thinking.

"Of course not," Dumbledore denied, the twinkle in his blue eyes as bright as ever. "Why would I?"

Why would he, indeed. "Thank you for bringing it down to me," Severus said, taking the package.

"It was no hardship, my boy," Dumbledore said with a wave of his hand. "Mr. Simmond, Mr. Murphy," he said to the two boys before leaving Severus at the door.

Severus frowned and went to his desk, ignoring the two idiots still wrist-deep in black beetles. He tore the envelope open. Inside was a short note written in an unfamiliar scrawl.

_Dear Professor Snape,_ he read,

_I asked the girl at the counter, and she said these would be perfect for you. She might have been taking the piss, though, so please don't take it out on me._

_Come by and visit me when you're free. I'll be in Hogsmeade for a while, and I'd really like to see you again._

_Sincerely, David Evans_

Severus crumpled the letter in his hand before smoothing it out over Ruby Harper's mind-numbingly awful paper. He hadn't expected for Pot- "David" to write so soon. He read it through two more times before grabbing the package and ripping it open, curious to see just what sort of gift "David Evans" had decided to send him.

Inside the package was a small red box of Honeydukes' finest Cheery Cherry chocolates. Severus grimaced and fantasised about shoving the box into "David's" face before shoving the box aside.

"Get back to work," he snarled at the two boys and began his vicious teardown of Ruby Harper's brainless thesis.

* * *

Severus stared off at the middle distance, ignoring McGonagall's priggish shifting on his right and Slughorn's overbearing self-indulgence on his left. Dumbledore lowered his head, watching him from over the rim of his half-moon glasses. Did Severus even _need_ to be here? Should he even bother asking that aloud?

"Do you have anything to add to this discussion, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, his voice soft even as the look in his eyes was hard.

"Nothing that hasn't been said already, no," he replied, not bothering to keep the contempt out of his voice.

"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said, though there was no gratitude in his voice. His tone made Severus immediately regret his terse reply. "Minerva, Horace, thank you for bringing this to my attention. Would you terribly mind if I spoke to Severus alone?"

"Of course not, Albus," McGonagall said as she stood. She adjusted her glasses. "I have other duties to perform, after all."

"Chin up, Severus," Slughorn said as he took his leave. Severus never wanted to punch the moustache off the older wizard's face more.

Dumbledore stroked the underside of his phoenix's beak as the office door closed. Bits of down fell away as the sickly-looking bird cooed morosely. "I have been very troubled," Dumbledore said, his attention on the moulting bird, "with what I have heard today."

Severus sat still, his hands white as he gripped the sides of his chair.

"And it's not the private brewing with school stores," Dumbledore continued. "Potions is your subject, and I have already deducted the price of the borrowed ingredients from your pay. However, I cannot have anyone under my employ walking out of classes or cursing my students whenever the mood strikes."

"I haven't walked out of a class in weeks," Severus said defensively.

"But you did hex Heather Armstrong this morning," Dumbledore stated. "The poor girl will never see tomatoes without crying now, and it's all because of you."

"If she kept her _mouth shut_, she would not have been cursed," Severus sneered.

"_You_ are the adult," Dumbledore snapped, startling Severus. "You are supposed to be above petty, childish taunts. _You are not supposed to curse your students!_" Fawkes crooned and rubbed his beak against the old wizard's cheek. "If you continue in this fashion, I'll have no choice but to dismiss you."

He finally looked at Severus's face. "Do you _want_ me to release you from your contract?"

"Of course not," Severus said listlessly.

"Then I suggest you act accordingly," Dumbledore responded. "I would hate to lose you." He dismissed Severus with a sad smile.

The last classes of the day were ending as he left the Headmaster's office, and Severus still had a stack of tests and papers to mark because of Slughorn, but the last thing he wanted to do was spend one more second in this castle. He wanted a smoke, and he wasn't much of a drinker, but a few shots of Firewhiskey sounded really good, too.

He stormed out the front doors and onto the grounds, nearly shoving a trio of sixth-year Ravenclaws out of his way. His hand was in his pocket, fiddling with his pack of Sweet Aftons in anticipation.

"Professor Snape!" Hagrid called out as he trudged towards him across the grounds. There was a muddy sack thrown over the gigantic man's shoulder. "Out of the castle today?"

"Decided I needed a break," Severus said, slowing down as Hagrid got closer.

"Well, it certainly is a nice day for it," Hagrid responded cheerfully. Severus silently agreed; it was warmer than an early April afternoon should be. The students seemed to know it, too; a few were already wandering down to the lake, their faces raised to the warm sun.

"Mind if I ask a favour of you, Professor?" Hagrid said, pulling out a small pouch from one of the many pockets of his coat. It looked tiny inside Hagrid's large palm. "There's a fellow at the Purple Dallier I've been talking with, asked me for some homemade remedy for bookworms. Could you give this to him? I'd go myself, but the Thestrals have been pretty tetchy lately."

Severus took the pouch and tucked it into the inside of his robes. "I'll see that he gets it," he promised. Only when he reached the gates did Severus think to ask Hagrid the name of the person. He shrugged and pushed on. The sooner he delivered this, the sooner he could get shamelessly drunk.

He found the Purple Dallier on a narrow side street north of the High Street. The sign above the scarred oak door was a many-petaled flower in royal purple resting on top of an open scroll. There were black curtains in the windows and no real sign that the shop was open at all.

Severus stood in front of the door, wondering if he should knock, when it opened. A _very_ familiar face with _very_ familiar green eyes peered out at him from the other side. "Yes, we're open," Pott- "David" whispered as he opened the door wider for Severus to enter.

Severus sneered and stepped inside. The shop was cool and dry, dimly lit and reeking of musty old books and strong tea. Beyond the front counter were rows and rows of books, set in a labyrinthine fashion around a wide reading space, complete with squashy chairs and cubicle tables. What light there was floated above the reading space, but Severus could see one or two trailing behind a patron as they searched the stacks. It was silent but for the sound of pages turning and teacups tapping gingerly against saucers.

Potter closed the door behind them and went to stand behind the counter. "Welcome, Professor Snape," he murmured, careful to keep his voice low. He looked thinner than he did two months ago. The faded purple apron he wore had the shop's emblem stitched on the front. A red headband covered his forehead.

Severus sneered. "Found yourself employment, have you?" he said quietly, keeping his voice low as well.

"Mrs. Lowe was willing to hire me, yes," he said, his eyes darting between Severus's face and the book left open behind the counter. There was a detailed sketch of a snake's fangs on the page. Potter noticed him looking and closed the book hurriedly. "I would have written to tell you about it, but your last letter... dissuaded me."

Severus scoffed. "It was only Itching Powder."

"Yes, like Krakatoa is only a volcano," Potter muttered darkly. One of the lights in the reading room started glowing red. A house elf in a purple tea towel scuttled to the man underneath the red light, a tea kettle in its hand.

Severus watched the elf refresh the man's tea before scurrying out of sight. "So you decided to write to Rubeus Hagrid instead?" Severus accused softly, dropping the pouch of bookworm poison on the counter.

"Hagrid knows his way around magical beasts," Potter said defensively. "And the bookworms _were_ eating their way through the Hermetic section. Something had to be done about it."

Severus leaned over the counter and placed his mouth as close to Potter's ear as he could. "I know that, as your father's son, your head is thicker than a slab," he whispered, his mouth brushing against Harry's skin, "but as a man out of time, you're doing a terrible job at not being seen. And while I _don't care_ that you're stuck here for years, writing to the man who took you home that night, a man I'm sure _is_ and _will_ be one of your greatest fans, is not something you're supposed to be doing."

Potter pulled back just enough to stare into Severus's eyes. His cheeks were red. "Hagrid," he hissed, "is my friend, but the only person who knows _me_ is _you_. And I _know_ how to keep my head down. "

Severus pulled back. "I sincerely doubt that."

Harry snatched the pouch off the counter and shot Severus a dirty look. "Thank you for bringing me this, Professor. Please tell Hagrid thank you for me and Mrs. Lowe."

Severus barely kept the scowl off his face as he stormed out of the quiet little shop, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

Harry sprinkled the powdered poison on the infested books, careful not to get any of the poison on his skin. Upstairs, Mrs. Lowe was smashing her way through a discordant, badly tuned, heavy-handed sonata on her harpsichord.

Vippy harrumphed, not looking up from her cleaning. "Vippy planned to kill worms next week," she griped, scrubbing the cake pan a bit too vigorously.

"I don't think the books would have survived that long," Harry replied.

"David think he know more than Vippy? David think he better than Vippy?"

"You know I don't think that at all," Harry insisted.

Vippy only sniffed, unconvinced, and attacked the tea stains on the cups. The music stopped and started, uncertain, before pounding away again with bare-knuckled determination.

Harry sighed and swept the excess poison into the bin. "Mind if I leave these here overnight?" he asked.

"Vippy minds a great deal about many things," she said. Harry took it as acquiescence and took his rucksack from behind the counter.

"See you tomorrow, Vippy," he said. The house elf pointedly ignored him.

He sighed and ambled to the Three Broomsticks for dinner. He stroked the shell of his ear, remembering how Snape's lips moved against it, how his breath grazed over his skin. His face burned red at the memory.

The girl behind the counter smiled at Harry as he stepped inside the pub. "The usual, Davie?" she asked, flashing her large, white teeth. He nodded, smiling to himself at the thought that he had a "usual" anywhere, and searched for a free table.

In the back of the room, Snape sat half in shadow with a cigarette between his fingers and a tray of shot glasses in front of him. He was staring straight ahead at nothing. Harry made his way to join him.

Snape barely glanced at Harry as he took the seat opposite. He lifted the cigarette to his mouth in slow, deliberate motions. "Do you work here as well?" he asked, his voice a sleepy drawl.

"No, I just eat here," Harry said. Seven of the twelve shot glasses were empty. "What's in this? Firewhiskey?" he asked, picking one of the empty glasses and taking a sniff.

Snape licked his lips and closed his eyes for a moment. "Why are you here?" he asked.

"Dinner?" Harry answered cheekily. "Isn't it Tuesday? Should you be getting drunk on Tuesday?"

"Are you Dumbledore?"

"No..."

"Then fuck off," Snape said, his voice languid as he raised one of the full glasses to his lips. He drank it slowly, careful to swallow every drop. He licked the sides of his mouth.

"Mind if I have one?"

"Yes," Snape said sharply before falling back into the half-dozing drawl. "Can't have a toddler drinking alcohol."

"I'm eighteen," Harry reminded him. The girl from the bar was tight-lipped as she set a plate of pork pie and chips in front of Harry. He stared at her, mouth agape, as she flounced away, her feathered hair bouncing aggressively with each step.

"She's not mad at you," Snape said as he took another drag. He pursed his lips and blew the smoke to the side. "At least, not directly. Your headband looks ridiculous."

Harry frowned at the pie before tucking in. "You're saying she hates my headband?"

Severus shot him a lazy stare. "I'm saying _I_ hate your headband." He reached out and ran a hand through Harry's hair. Harry sat, frozen, as Snape slipped his thumb underneath the headband and rubbed it against the scar. "Makeup might be a better idea."

"Makeup rubs off," Harry said, his face growing hot.

"And you need a haircut," Snape continued, tugging at a lock of Harry's hair. He took another drag of his cigarette and pulled away.

"You're really drunk, aren't you?" Harry managed to say through the lump in his throat.

"That was the plan, I believe," Snape said. He ground his cigarette into his ashtray. He frowned at the cigarette butt and closed his eyes again. For a while there, it looked like he had fallen asleep. Harry kept an eye on him as he devoured his food. The pie was cold, but after consuming nothing but tea and stale cakes all day, Harry didn't care.

"You're going to get fat," Snape mumbled, eyes still closed.

"Somehow I doubt it." Harry snatched up one of Snape's shots. It burned his throat as he knocked it back.

Snape watched, his eyes barely open, as Harry slammed the glass down. "Gawh!" Harry rasped out. Snape let out a chuckle and closed his eyes again.

* * *

Severus read through "David's" latest letter and sighed before tucking it back into the envelope. Beside him, Hagrid made an amused little sound. "It's not what you think," Severus said as he put the letter away.

"If you say so, Professor," Hagrid said. "But if you don't mind me saying so-"

"Which I do."

"-It looks like you've got yourself an admirer," Hagrid continued, his white teeth showing through the birds' nest masquerading as his beard. "That's the third letter this week, isn't it."

"He's just bored," Severus said, staring down at the rashers on his plate.

"Oh, a 'he', is it?" Hagrid said, his vast mouth stretching into a wide grin.

"It's not what you think," Severus said quickly, his stomach hurting suddenly at the notion.

"I think you just said that, yeah," Hagrid returned, his beetle-black eyes crinkled with silent laughter. Severus ignored him and stabbed at his food, unwilling to think about "David" for another second.

This "relationship" he was developing with Potter was actually getting more complicated than Severus had thought possible, even with the pre-existing condition of "David" being the time-traveling Boy Who Lived. He said that he wanted to save Severus, that he trusted him. Perhaps one day he'd even tell Severus what exactly he was to be saved _from_. Severus didn't know whether he wanted that or not.

When he lay in bed at night or when the Sweet Afton was too sweet, Severus would think of questions to which he'd never get answers. In a weak attempt to _not_ unravel time, Potter had said so little. Yet, Severus had the feeling that, with a bit of coaxing, he would gratefully tell Severus everything. Of course, that could be the Sweet Afton talking.

If he was patient, he'd find out eventually. He had sixteen years, if "David" was as old as he kept insisting.

Severus drank the rest of his tea and left the Hall, avoiding Hagrid's eyes as the groundskeeper's grin only grew wider. The great oaf could think what he wanted. All that mattered was that _Severus_ knew there wasn't anything illicit between "David" and him. He'd rather eat glass than get in a "relationship" with Potter's supposed son.

He went down to the classroom to prepare for the first class of the morning. He read the letter as the instructions copied themselves on the blackboard, the tap and slide of the chalk an odd counterpoint to Pott- "David's" inane ramblings. The smell of old ink and tea lingered on the paper. Severus pressed it against his nose, wondering if there was another scent hidden there, waiting to be discovered.

"Ho-ho! A love letter?" Slughorn grinned as he came in. Severus guiltily stuffed the letter into his pocket, his face hot. "Ah! Say nothing!" Slughorn insisted. "It would be loathsome of me to ask about your paramour." He shuffled to the blackboard and read over the instructions. He tut-tutted and grabbed the chalk before it could finish the word "widdershins."

"Severus," he said, "did you check the instructions before putting it on the blackboard?" He wiped away the third line about crushing the stag beetle mandibles into pieces and wrote in a correction.

"Of course, I did," Severus said, bristling. "I'm copying them from my own textbook."

"Severus," Slughorn sighed. "How many times have I told you _not_ to put altered recipes on the blackboard?"

Severus's lip curled in distain. "My 'altered recipes' are more effective than those in the textbook."

"And yet, it's the _textbook's_ recipes that you will need to teach the students." He erased another line on the blackboard. "I'm not arguing whether or not your versions are _better_; I'm familiar with your brewing and it's always more than adequate. However, putting alternates on the blackboard will only confuse the students, and they struggle so already."

"If they 'struggle so,' then they shouldn't be in my class in the first place," Severus muttered.

"You have to make allowances, Severus," Slughorn chastised. "Otherwise, how are they supposed to _learn_?" He wrote out the rest of the instructions quickly, squatting as he scratched out the last few lines.

Severus huffed and grabbed his textbook, offended by the idea that his alterations were less than ideal. That his brewing was merely "more than adequate." He checked the clock and his pockets and wondered if he could afford having his pay docked again. He sank into a seat with a sigh and stared listlessly into space. What he wouldn't give for a smoke right now.

* * *

Snape came by on the first Saturday of June, sneered at Harry, and said, "You look homeless."

"And good evening to you, Professor," Harry said, careful to keep his voice down. "What can I do for you?"

"When do you get off work?" Severus asked, completely ignoring the pleasantries, and looked about the shop. The only person in the shop aside from Harry and Vippy was Mr. Marsh, dozing away in his favourite chair.

"In an hour," Harry replied.

"Can't you leave sooner?"

"I just work here, Professor," Harry said. "I don't make the rules." Snape sneered and stared at the rows of books. "Would you like to wait here until then? It's twelve Sickles an hour, drinks included. Food's extra."

Snape sniffed. "Fine," he said. Harry handed him a purple bill holder with a blank sheet clipped onto it. One of the lights in the reading room floated over to hover over Snape's head.

"Just tap the bill with your wand if you wish to order anything," Harry said as Snape walked into the stacks, the light trailing off after him. As Snape disappeared, Harry took a deep, shuddering breath and stared up at the ceiling.

"Professor's right," Vippy whispered snidely as she took his empty tea cup. "You look homeless." She sniffed and narrowed her eyes. "And you smell like fish."

Harry bit his tongue and sorted through the day's receipts. He thought about finding another job, one that paid more than three Galleons a day and had no supercilious superiors, house elf or otherwise. He groaned quietly and sat down on his stool. His fingers toyed with the edge of the book he was reading, his eyes following Snape as he moved from shelf to shelf.

He ducked his head, pretending to read some more from _Annihilating Afflictions: Quick and Nasty Cures for on the Go_, when Snape took the seat farthest from Mr. Marsh. The more gruesome illustrations were not nearly as interesting as they had been before.

Harry stared at the cover of Snape's selection and tried to make out the title in the dim light without Snape noticing he was staring. He gave up and stared at Snape instead.

At a couple minutes to seven, Mrs. Lowe began practicing her harpsichord upstairs, banging her way up and down the scales to warm up. Snape looked up from the book in his hands, his lips curled and his eyebrow raised, only to wince when Mrs. Lowe mangled her way through the notes. Across from Snape, Mr. Marsh yawned loudly and smacked his lips together.

"What is that infernal racket!" Snape complained, wincing again as Mrs. Lowe ignored her mistakes and barreled through the next scale.

"That would be Mrs. Lowe practicing," Harry said as he closed his book.

"Practicing what? How to torture and skin a cat?" Snape commented, his brow wrinkling and his shoulders tensing at each jarring, off-key note.

Vippy glared at Snape and yanked the book out of his hand. Snape stared at the house elf in disbelief as she carried it off without a word.

Mr. Marsh merely shrugged and took his bill holder to the front counter. "She is getting better," he offered sleepily as he stretched his feeble arms over his head.

"How frightful," Snape drawled, glaring at Vippy whenever she came close.

Snape paid his twelve Sickles and stood at the door, watching Harry put his things away. "You don't do much here, do you?"

"Vippy hates it when I try to clean," Harry offered as a reason as he grabbed his rucksack. "Goodnight, Vippy," he shouted to the back.

"Go take a bath," was Vippy's particularly blunt reply. Harry blushed with embarrassment as Snape held the door open for him.

They walked to the High Street in silence. There was a sweet smell in the air, reminding Harry of studying for exams by the lake. "Exams coming up?" he asked.

Snape kept his eyes straight and his expression neutral. "Next week," was his terse reply.

Harry waited for more, but Snape wasn't being especially forthcoming tonight. "Where are we going?"

Snape sighed. "The Hog's Head. I can't afford a room at the Three Broomsticks right now." He frowned, pursing his lips.

"Room?" Harry echoed, suddenly feeling very hot. Snape caught the startled look on Harry's face.

"Not like that, you dolt," he snapped, colour high on his own shallow cheeks. "We're going there to talk, and to give you a bath." He looked away. "You smell like fish."

Harry resisted the urge to laugh.

* * *

Severus sat on the bed, his back against the post, as "David" bathed in the next room. He flicked the ash of his cigarette onto the floor and took another drag as he waited. Two bowls of rabbit stew sat congealing on the rickety table. Potter's sack was on the room's only chair. Severus thought about rifling through it and speculated on what he'd find. He blew the smoke up at the torn canopy.

Potter shuffled out of the steam-filled bathroom, dressed in faded pyjamas that were an inch too short. The ugly headband was wrapped around his wrist. He stood by the bed and scrubbed his hair dry with a towel. His cheeks were red from the heat. "Do you smoke all the time?" he asked as he draped the towel over the footboard.

Severus rolled his eyes and threw the cigarette into the hearth. "Drag that chair over and sit down," he ordered as he stood. He smoothed down his robes and took out his wand. "I'm cutting your hair."

Potter stopped in the middle of putting his sack on the floor. "What? Why?"

"Because you look like a decrepit vagabond, and I can't live with the fact that _you_ are living like a tramp." He transfigured one of the spoons into a pair of thin, sharp scissors. "_She_ would never forgive me."

Potter stared at him for a long moment, but he did as Severus asked. Severus covered Potter's shoulders with the towel and ran a hand through the wet hair. Potter handed Severus a comb from his sack and Severus started snipping.

Harry's hair was harder wet than it was dry, and the tangles snagged on the teeth of the comb. "If I asked you a question, would you answer?"

"Guess it depends on the question," Potter said, his eyes on their reflection in the window.

"Have you been writing to anyone else?"

"Why? You jealous?" Snape tugged Potter's hair hard, pulling his head back. "Ow!"

Severus resumed cutting. "Have you?"

Harry frowned and said, "Not really, no." He glanced upwards to catch Severus's eye. "I thought about it. I think about it a lot, actually, about how much I can do and what I'm _supposed_ to do. I mean, I can't leave Hogsmeade, so I can't, say, stop Voldemort before he returns." Severus gritted his teeth but did not correct him. "At least not directly."

"What happens if you leave Hogsmeade?"

Potter looked down at his hands. "It's hard to explain," Potter said quietly. "But the further I get, the more I can't move. Like the air itself is crushing me." He shrugged, as if being stuck in Hogsmeade for the next fifteen or so years was no great hardship. "So I thought the next best thing is to convince others to do something. The problem is, I don't think I ever will or that'd it make much difference if I'd tried."

A clump of hair fell on his nose. He brushed it off with an impatient flick of his thumb. "The newspapers'd think I'm a lunatic if I write saying he's still out there when everyone _knows_ he's gone. Well, the _Prophet_ would. The _Quibbler_ might proclaim me as the next Nostradamus.

"And I thought about writing Dumbledore, because he would believe me about Voldemort, at least, because he believed it, too. But... I don't think that I'd be able to talk him into changing the future. Especially because I don't think it can be done."

He sighed and dipped his head. Severus lifted it back up. "Head straight," he commanded before continuing, "If you thought that, then why did you try in the first place?"

Potter sighed gustily and stayed still as Severus trimmed his hair shorter and shorter. He thought of his answer for a longer time than Severus expected. "Because I thought I had a chance," he said quietly. "So long as..." His voice trailed off, and he lowered his eyes. "So long as I don't know the outcome, I figured that I could make a difference. And now." He breathed noisily through his nose. "I don't know."

Severus scrubbed Potter's hair hard, shaking out the clippings still there. He banished the mess and transfigured the spoon back as "David" wiped at his neck and hair. "I think you took too much," he groused.

"It'll grow back," Severus said as he sat on the bed. He toed his boots off and laid down on the rough blanket. "Eat, before you pass out from malnutrition."

Potter scoffed. "You should talk. You're mostly skin and bones yourself." He moved the table and chair towards Severus and warmed the stew to the point of scalding. "If I eat," he said, taking the chair, "then you eat."

"Is this what you planned to save me from?" Severus said, raising himself on his elbows. "Starvation?"

"Maybe," Potter said, tearing a chunk out of the stale brown bread and dropping it into his stew. Severus lay down again and closed his eyes as Potter slurped and munched away.

* * *

Harry moved the table back to the window, Snape's portion untouched, and quietly debated with himself. Snape slept on, snoring softly through his large nose, a hand resting on his belly. There was more than enough room on the bed for the two of them, and Harry had spent too many nights in a tent in the woods to turn down a night indoors.

He rubbed at the back of his neck. Snape looked like he needed the sleep, and Harry didn't dare wake him.

He lay down on the other side of the bed and stared up at the canopy. The blanket underneath him felt rough and gritty. He sighed and turned onto his side towards Snape, careful not to rouse him. He carefully cradled Snape's hand in his own.

Snape's hands were cold and dry and longer than Harry's. There were calluses on the pads and sides of his fingers, the hardest being the yellow skin on his fore and middle fingers from the cigarettes. He held Snape's hand to keep it warm.

The candles by the bed guttered out one by one and Harry huddled closer, Snape's hand growing warmer against his chest.

"I tried because you deserved it," he confessed to Snape's shoulder, his voice a murmur in the dark. "Because you're a git and you hated me, but you still cared, I think. And I can't-" His voice hitched unexpectedly. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, unable to confess.

He held Snape's hand tight instead, desperation and hopeless yearning clawing at his chest. Snape slept on, silent and still.

* * *

Severus twisted the Sweet Afton between his fingers and stared at the wall as the two o'clock bell rang. He placed the cigarette between his lips and lay back against his headboard. He could still feel "David's" hands wrapped around his. He could still hear the way his voice hitched. He grabbed the novel on his bedside table and opened it, determined to not think about "David" at all, only to sigh and toss it aside.

A stag Patronus leapt into his room from the shadows, trotted in a circle and nudged Severus's foot with its nose. It opened its mouth and spoke in "David's" voice, "I've had an accident brewing a Blood-Replenishing Potion." He sounded weak and on the verge of panicking. "I don't think I can feel my arms."

Severus sprung to his feet, the cigarette falling to the floor. "Where is he?"

The stag jerked back as if startled and leapt back out of the room. Severus ran after it, through his office and into the hall.

"Wait!" Severus yelled as the silver stag bounded out of the dungeons and towards the ground floor. The portraits on the wall turned and whispered as he ran past. He nearly knocked down a suit of armour on the way.

The stag did not stop and wait for Snape to catch up. As soon as Severus reached the ground floor, the stag flicked its ears and jumped through one of the windows. It galloped through the air towards the gate. Severus pushed himself to catch up.

"Professor Snape," McGonagall called out from outside the Great Hall. A line of fifth and seventh-years, waiting to be called in for their practical O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, turned and stared at him. He skidded slightly, surprised. "What is the meaning of this?" she said, stomping her way towards him.

He turned and ran after the stag, ignoring McGonagall's carping. The stag was nearly invisible in the bright sunlight as it waited for Severus by the gate. It started running when Severus reached it, leading him into the woods away from Hogsmeade.

He followed the Patronus to a saffron-coloured tent set up in a small clearing. There was a table by the trees, the melted remains of a pewter cauldron dripping down its sides. Discarded phials and ingredients were scattered on the ground, blasted away and forgotten.

The stag looked at him before bowing its head towards the tent flap. Severus's legs shook from the run. He pulled back the flap and went inside.

Inside, the tent was about as large as Severus's office and bedroom combined. The main area was a mess; piles of clothes and books took up most of the floor space. The table set against one side of the tent was covered with old _Prophets_, pinned down with a jar of billywig stings. Labeled flasks filled with ready-made potions sat by the sink, gathering dust and moisture.

"David" lay flat on the bed in the back, his feet and hands shifting restlessly against the blankets. His head lolled towards Severus. "You came," he greeted weakly as he tried to lift himself into a sitting position. His arms shook and refused to support his weight. "Were you in the middle of class?"

"Stay still, you idiot," Severus said as he drew closer, his heart thumping painfully against his chest. Potter was naked from the waist up, flat on his back and pale as a corpse. On the bed beside his thigh were pieces of melted pewter, still wet with his blood. Wounds dotted his arms and stomach. Around his neck was a Mokeskin purse that had slid off his chest and to the side.

His mouth opened into a faint pantomime of a smile. "Do I really look that bad?" he said, trying to sound glib but only managing to sound _slightly_ pained. "I managed to heal the wounds with some dittany, but then I started to get a little woozy."

Severus gently picked Potter's arm up to check more closely. The skin around his elbow was turning painfully red. "You need a Healer," Severus said, taking a good look at Potter's eyes. They were dilated, the green irises no more than thin rings around the black pupils. His forehead was clammy to the touch.

"I don't know any," Potter said softly. "And I couldn't go to them even if I did." He smiled. "You're the only one I have."

"I'll go to St. Mungo's, try to find a Healer willing to come," Severus said, pulling away.

Potter wrapped his hand around Severus's wrist. There was no strength in his fingers. His knuckles and wrist were red as well. "I have to tell you something."

"Don't," Severus implored him, his heart pounding against his chest. "Save your strength."

"I came because you're the bravest man I know," Potter said in a rush. His thumb stroked Severus's wrist bone. "And I love you."

Severus shook his head. Potter was delirious, his brain addled and his blood poisoned by the unfinished potion. "I have to go," Severus said, unable to pull away. He wiped the cold sweat on Potter's brow with his hand. "Just wait right here."

"I won't move an inch," Potter reassured him.

Potter's hand slipped from Severus's wrist. Severus took hold of it before it fell back onto the bed and gave it a tender squeeze.

"This is unexpected."

Severus stood and turned, blocking Potter from view and drawing his wand. Dumbledore stepped into the tent, the flap falling closed behind him. He tucked his thumbs into his belt and took a good look around. "Unexpected, indeed."

"How are you here?"

"I followed you, of course," Dumbledore replied, as if it was the only logical conclusion. The sleeve of his silvery-blue robes dangled over the sink as he examined one of the labeled flasks. "Minerva said that you ran out of the castle as if your hair was on fire. I think she believes you've become a bit unbalanced." He peered past Severus to Potter's prone body. "And who is this?" he queried as he drew closer.

"David," Severus said, not moving. "Albus, he needs a Healer."

"Oh yes, I thought as much after seeing the mess outside," Dumbledore said. " 'David', is it? Funny, I could _almost_ hear the quotation marks around it when you said it, as if you weren't quite so sure yourself." He smiled at Potter. "Hello."

"Professor Dumbledore," Potter greeted back, sounding both awestruck and afraid.

Dumbledore's eyes moved from freshly healed wounds to the Mokeskin purse resting over Potter's shoulder, his face turning inscrutable. "That is an interesting scar, David," he said solemnly. "However did you get it?"

"I- I had a friend of mine cut me last year," he said weakly, his eyes on Dumbledore's wand. "He has one too. We- we were really drunk that night."

Dumbledore leaned over Potter and stared straight into his green, dilated eyes. Potter cowered, his eyes wide with panic.

"Albus, don't."

"_Legilimens_."

The contact was brief, no longer than a second, but it felt like it lasted for hours. Potter's hands clenched into fists, his face tightened as he tried to push Dumbledore out of his mind. Dumbledore lowered his head and moved away, his brow furrowed. "You should have told me, Severus," he said quietly. Potter's face was chalk white. "Months ago."

"This isn't the time," Severus insisted. "We need to get him a Healer."

Dumbledore looked askance at Severus. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Severus stumbled at the question. "I wasn't sure." Dumbledore frowned at Severus's lie. "He could have been anyone."

" 'Anyone' would not have Lily Potter's eyes," Dumbledore said. The trill of a phoenix filled the air. He placed his hand on top of Harry's arm. "You only have two options now. Forget. Or be forgotten."

Severus's head jerked. "What?"

"Time travel is tricky business, much more so when one goes back years," Dumbledore said, looking down at Harry's face. "The first rule is _you must not be seen_, but that was too much of a burden for you, wasn't it. You couldn't stop yourself from revealing yourself." Fawkes flew in, its feathers bright and glowing, and circled over them. It landed on the other side of the bed, turning its head this way and that, judging Harry. "And I'm afraid you won't be able to stop trying to change the future you _already know_. And neither would I."

Harry closed his eyes tight. His fingers rose feebly, as if to touch the phoenix but not daring to do so. "I don't want to forget," he said quietly.

"Then we'll have to forget you," Dumbledore said, raising his wand.

"Albus," Severus plead, "there must be another way. If the three of us can keep it a secret, then there's no need to forget."

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said softly, "but the temptation to change the future will still be there."

"What had already happened can't be undone," Severus argued.

"Would you try to save Lily Potter if given a chance, even when you know she will die that night, no matter what you did?"

Severus swallowed and looked away. "You know I would."

"Which is why we will forget," Dumbledore raised his hand again. Potter's eyes were closed. His joints were stiff and red, his hands clawing the bed. "Step aside, Severus, quickly."

Severus took a step back as Dumbledore placed a hand over Potter's brow. "Harry," Severus called out. Potter opened his eyes and looked at him. "Whatever I did to make you think I'm a good man, I didn't do it for you."

Harry smiled, his teeth showing through. "I know," he replied, as if it didn't matter.

Dumbledore began chanting softly, the spell melodious and painful to listen to, as Fawkes bowed his head over Potter's heart. Severus stepped back, the sound of the spell like a low, constant thud against his frontal lobe. He covered his brow with a hand and fell into a chair, knocking down a pile of books stacked on the floor. The migraine grew and he closed his eyes against the light, against the sound.

And then, it was over.

* * *

Some nights, after patrolling the halls and before smoking the one Sweet Afton he allowed himself anymore, he would think of Lily, and he could almost imagine the look in her eyes when she told him she loved him.

It never happened. She despised him in the end, and he deserved it. Yet, her eyes, half-closed and dark as she said those words to him, would come to mind, and Severus tried not to concentrate too long on it lest he remember it wasn't real.

He would see a man in Hogsmeade, eating at Madam Rosmerta's or loitering by the post office. Sometimes the man would approach him, and they would exchange words so inconsequential Severus could never remember of what they had spoken. Sometimes the man would keep his distance and stare at him instead, making Severus's skin itch from the attention. Yet, as soon as the man was out of sight, he was out of Severus's mind, anonymous and forgotten.

Sometimes, Severus would wander away from the High Street and find himself standing in front of the scarred door of the Purple Dallier, staring at it as if expecting an answer to a question he still hadn't formed in his mind.

Over time, he avoided going to Hogsmeade altogether.

He had a bundle of letters, tied together with twine and hidden away with his more illegal possessions, forgotten until a new one would arrive. The new letter would stay in his pocket, unopened and unread, until he rediscovered it after turning out his pockets for the night. He would read it in the privacy of his bedroom, then take out the others and read them in turn as the candles burned and guttered beside him.

He would fold and tuck them away, not remembering a single word that was written. He would wipe the tears off his face, not remembering what had made him cry.

Only when Dumbledore died did Severus remember. It couldn't have happened at a worse time.

* * *

Snape woke up on the fourth, just after noon. He blinked up at the ceiling before licking his lips and swallowing. He moved his head to the side and spotted Harry sitting beside him, watching over him.

"You came," Snape managed to say, his voice raspy and dry. Harry anxiously cradled his head as he gave Snape some water to drink.

"That was the plan all along," Harry said he held the cup to Snape's lips until he drank his fill. Harry sat back and felt his mouth form a tight smile.

In the distance, bells were pealing and the village was celebrating Voldemort's death with music and noise. His younger self was at Hogwarts, mourning those who had died and searching for Snape's body, but Harry's heart was too full of happiness and relief to completely join in that Harry's sorrow. Severus stared at him.

"You look like Hagrid," he croaked.

Harry scratched at his full beard, embarrassed. "I didn't have anyone around to cut my hair for me," Harry said cheekily, his smile growing wider.

Severus sighed and ran a hand through Harry's shoulder-length hair. "You're hopeless," he said as he caressed Harry's scar and rested his hand on top of Harry's cheek.

Harry grinned and cupped Severus's hand with his own. He laughed and pressed his lips to Severus's skin until he started to cry.

Severus ran his hand through Harry's hair and comforted him as the bells continued to ring.

-The End-


End file.
